Mt. Evans Hill Climb - 07/22/06

Sometimes I think Andy Johnson knows me better than I know myself. After placing 6th at last weekend's Mike Horgan HC, I made the comment that maybe I'm not as strong on the really steep climbs as I had thought. Andy respectfully disagreed and countered that as the roads get steeper, I do in fact get stronger. Simply, I had an off day. So as this week's training progressed and I compared how I felt this week versus last week, I tended to agree with the boy. As Thursday and Friday came around, I just knew I would be closer to my full potential at Mt. Evans. Not quite there, but definitely close.

Which was a good thing, because everyone who beat me at Mike Horgan were on the start line for Mt. Evans. It would not be a walk in the park to try to earn the titles of State and National Hill Climb Champion.

It was a gorgeous morning with light wind and clear skies, temperatures maybe a little high down in Idaho Springs - just about perfect conditions for this race. No one could predict what it would be like up above treeline and toward the top at over 14,000 feet, but we would take it as it came. The race started on time at 9am, and as he vocally predicted after his Horgan victory, a guy named Ben took off right out of the gate. "Go for it, dude," was all I could think. Mt. Evans is 27.5 miles, nearly all climbing at about a 5% average grade. It's not the same as a flat 28-mile race. If you spend energy unnecessarily, you're toast at the top.

No one bothered to chase Ben down; we all knew he would come back to us at some point. I felt pretty good, almost great. Much better than the previous weekend. Upon recon'ing the course on the 3rd, I knew exactly where I would put in my attacks. Now, if the rest of the peloton would just cooperate so I could work through my master plan. . .

Half-hearted attacks peppered the first 10 miles. They were more like sharp accelerations by guys who were getting nervous and wanted to be on the front. I was content sitting back in 5th to 20th position. I had marked my chief competitors. If they didn't make some sort of serious move, I let others come around me to fill in gaps. I can say with confidence that I wasted not an ounce of energy the first half of the race. It was pretty hot, though. Less than 2 miles into it, I had already shed my glasses because I kept sweating into them. Good thing for the visor I wore beneath my helmet.

We passed the ranger station - the halfway point - at 56 minutes flat. Andy had stated that to break the 2-hour barrier, we would need to hit this point in about 53-54 minutes. My ultimate goal was to break 2 hours, so I knew the pace was pretty fast thus far. At the ranger station, there were about 30 of us still together. I noticed a lot of guys heaving like asthmatics even 4-5 miles into it. I chuckled inwardly at each one of them, knowing they were all in for rude awakenings as the road pitched up and the air thinned out. At this point, I was riding in the front 5-6 and no one was coming by anymore. The lead group of 30 had settled into its rhythm.

At around mile 16, the energy of the pack shifted noticeably. Eyes started to dart and the energy started to compress. I could feel it within me and I could feel it around me. Something was about to explode. As Andy has said about me, "You can just feel when Nate is about to wind it up." This, coincidentally, was the place where in my master plan I had planned to start attacking. The guy who was third at Horgan was right next to me and just behind Greg. I was right behind Ben. Then, Ben and Greg (the top two at Horgan) parted in front of me. Just ever so slightly. . .

Boom! I'm gone. I thread that hole like the eye of a needle and jam it for a minute before settling back down. I look over my shoulder. The contenders are just getting on my wheel. But 30 has become 15. I turn my computer to the heart rate function. The pace the first half of the race had been fast and my HR was higher than I anticipated. So attacks had to be smart. I decided to keep my HR below 175 and to let it recover to below 165 before attacking again.

And I decided to make the attacks very deliberate and obvious. I wanted the people who were in trouble to know that more trouble was coming. My HR dipped below 165. Ca-chunk, ca-chunk - I shifted down 2 gears, got out of the saddle and floored it again. Sat down, settled in, looked back. 15 had become 6. In a total of 10 minutes, I attacked this way four times. At the end of the third attack, there were 3 of us - me, Ben and Greg - and a fourth guy yo-yo'd off the back and then clawed his way back up. After the fourth attack, there were only the 3 of us. This was the race.

I kept vigil on those we had dropped. I did not want the 3 of us to watch each other so much that we slowed and let a larger pack reform. I could tell the attacks had stung Ben's legs. He had to be respected after winning Horgan, but I had a feeling it would come down to me and Greg. Ben was not doing much work and was content to stay third in line behind us. Greg put in some good efforts but nothing explosive. At mile 20, I felt it was my race to win. Up to that point, I had been in control of the race's canvas.

Then, my body threw in a wrinkle to the master plan. With about 30 minutes to go, my quads started to twinge. Not bad, but I knew it would get worse over the steepest parts of the course. We just passed a lake, which marked the place I planned to drop the hammer and ride with everything to the finish line. This new wrinkle made me reassess and decide to hold off a couple more miles. Plus, the race was tough. I wasn't sure I could hold a sustained attack for nearly 30 minutes at that point. I did not want to crater myself. I look over my shoulder and notice the lead motorcycle is inadvertently pacing the guy in fourth back up to us. I drop back about ten yards, get the driver's attention and finally get him to understand what the hell he's doing. I hear the engine rev and he gaps the cyclist. What an idiot! With surprising ease, I catch back on to Ben and Greg. My quads are starting to cramp, but the other two guys are spent. Without the cramps, I would have gone right then.

With about 3 miles to go, it's still just the 3 of us. Around one of the many, many switchbacks on the top, I get out of the saddle to see if that will stretch out my quads and to see how my body responds. If good, I decide I'll go immediately and put the final stake in this race. On my first pedal stroke, my left quad seizes up and just about catapults me off my bike. It's quite humorous to me. I hope it wasn't too noticeable to Ben or Greg, because if they attack hard at this point, there isn't much I can do. I resign myself to the fact that I need to stay seated the rest of the race.

With 2 miles left, I make the decision to give it all I've got. If it's a final sprint, I'll lose. I can't get out of my saddle. I power up through the remaining switchbacks with all I've got. Just under 10 minutes left. The air's thin, the temperature is around 45-50 degrees, the wind is pushing me back in one direction and pushing me up in the other. I have no idea who is still with me and who has dropped. Aside from cramping quads, I feel pretty damn good. I hit the final switchback and there is only 50 meters to the finish line!

Right then, Greg comes by me. Out of the saddle, pumping with everything he's got. It's not a particularly strong attack. Had I been able to get out of my saddle, I could have staved it off. Unfortunately, I have to helplessly watch him come around me. But I can't complain. Final time by my watch was 2:03:04 to Greg's 2:03:02. What an awesome race! I am reminded of a Tour stage back in the mid-90s, a tough day ending with a climb the day before an individual TT. Everyone expected the day to be somewhat routine given the next day's Race of Truth. Then Indurain went to the front and all hell broke loose. Only Johan Brunyeel stayed with him, did no work and then came around Miguel at the end to win the stage. Greg did a little more work than Johan and I do not feel slighted or bitter. He deserved to win and I doff my helmet to him.

I pedaled up to the parking lot, another 100 meters up the road. Stopped my bike, unclipped and got off. My quads and calves were fighting each other for cramping bragging rights. It took me a few minutes to figure out how to stand to keep my muscles from cramping. I finally sat down to gather myself and wait for Andy to finish. Andy raced in the 35+ group, which started a half-hour behind me.

Andy put in a great race, in his own right. It unfolded a little differently in his group. Theirs was more of a steady rhythm that ground people up and spit them out the back. Andy was well in control until there were just 3 of them left. Then, a Rocky Mounts guy put in some surges. Andy easily countered and stuck to his wheel. The guy was not going to drop Andy, that was for damn sure. But, the surges did allow for the 3rd guy to be dropped.

Andy and the Rocky Mounts guy traded the lead, but were also marking each other. Maybe a little too much. Because, out of nowhere, the guy in 3rd came back them and left them behind. Suddenly, Andy was in a race for 2nd. Andy battled his way to the top and was similarly overtaken close to the line and relegated to 3rd place.

Not a bad result at all. Andy confided to me afterwards that he had taken in no fuel during the race. Big mistake I told him, and that's probably what kept him from keeping a hold on 2nd and probably setting a PR for the climb. Still, a very respectable 2:10-n-change for Peterbuilt!

All-in-all, a great result for Feedback Sports. Next up is the Colorado State RR Champs - the Carter Lake RR. It's about time for me to chalk up a win. Carter Lake could be it.

Ride safe.

Mike Horgan Hill Climb - 07/16/06

Well, old dogs can learn new tricks. This weekend’s Mike Horgan HC proved the perfect venue for THIS old dog to learn a couple things. What did I learn? I learned that: 1) Severe heat will 99 times out of 100 take me down; 2) I am really strong on moderately steep climbs, but only strong on moderate and really steep climbs; 3) performing very well on a course during training does not ensure success in an actual race over the same terrain; 4) never break a cardinal rule of racing. And, I’m sure there are more lessons learned.

I ended up 6th on the day. Not bad, but not satisfactory either. For the first time this year, I woke up and the first thought that came to mind was, “I’m off today.” After 30 years of this shit, I trust my gut. But, I didn’t think much of it. I’ve won very big, very important races after getting out of bed and wondering how I was going to put one foot in front of the other. But this feeling came directly from my head, not my body. The ride out to the race start felt fine. Not great, but not bad. I had no reason to think my performance would be sub-par. And, to be honest, I don’t know that it was sub-par.

Andrew showed up for some moral support and to help keep me where I wanted to be during the first 6-7 miles. After his big win at Festival in the Park the previous day, big kudos to him for doing the dirty double. He gets the definitive nod for Ye Old Codpiece in my book. Thanks, Andrew! The whistle blew and we took off out of the courthouse parking lot. I felt like an idiot while I tried to clip into my pedal about six times before I finally got it right. No problem. A few hard pedal strokes and I was right in the thick of things.

Aside from some psycho ranting and raving, and generally carrying on like a complete asshole those first 6 miles by one rider in particular (who was that jack ass anyway???), the race unfolded predictably. Some surges off the front, none worth following. Some were ignored, others were followed. I did my best to let others do the work to close gaps and conserve my energy for the certain pain to come. At 4.8 miles, we hit the sharp right turn onto Sugarloaf, and Andrew had me positioned perfectly – in the top 10-15. Then the fun began.

Some sharp accelerations made the first split. There were about 15-20 of us left up front. At this point, Andrew was still there, but I could tell his legs were on the verge of cracking. No matter, he did exactly what was asked of him. I gave him a thumbs up as I passed him by, a silent “thanks”. I felt OK here. Not great but in control of my effort. The attrition had begun.

The first couple miles of Sugarloaf are steep, in excess of 10%, then there is a slight leveling off before the real grunt begins just before the Mile 3 marker until just before Mile 5. Those two miles are brutal. Greg, a solid climber from Spike!, and I went to the front and lifted the pace up a notch. The lead group of 15 became 10. I uplifted the pace again and 10 became 6, then became just 3. At this point, around Mile 3.5, I was close to my limit and assumed Greg and the other guy, an unattached rider, were too. I was wrong. The unattached rider kicked the pace up a notch. Greg went with him and I could not. Not long after, another guy came up to me and I worked to stay with him. About this time, the heat is starting to bake me and the quads are starting to twinge. Which is strange for only 40 minutes into the race. This should not be happening this soon. But I put it out of my mind.

I crest the top of the steep climb about 30 seconds behind the two front runners and about 5 seconds behind the guy in third. From training, I remembered that the downhill portion allowed for sufficient recovery so I could push up and over the dirt section before the final descent & climb to the finish. I was really looking forward to the recovery and then the push to re-latch on to the front runners. But, the recovery never came. My HR never came down and my legs continued to protest. Twinging turned to light cramping. I had committed the cardinal sin of spending too much time in the Red Zone. As I have professed over and over, once you are in your Red Zone and you keep it there for too long (literally 10-20 minutes tops), your body shuts you down. You don’t have a choice; I didn’t have a choice. I had hit the wall.

The upper pitches of the race are gradual, and in training I hit them in my big chain ring. In the race, I could only manage my small ring. I knew things were bad when I saw the road continue up when I rounded a bend and all I could think was, “Shit!” My body was checked out and I couldn’t wait for it to be over. Not like me. But, when you cross over from “competitive” mode to “survival” mode, everything changes – your output, your mental state, how your body feels and so on. In the infamous words of Phill Liggett, I had cracked.

I hit the end of the dirt road where Sugarloaf meets Peak to Peak Highway at 1:03, nearly a minute faster than my best training run over the course. But, by the time I hit the finish line 10 minutes later, I was nearly a minute behind that training run. In the final 2.5 – 3 miles, I lost 2 minutes. That’s huge. The legs were totally tapped.

All in all, I can’t complain. More lessons learned. I am looking forward to Mt. Evans. My confidence is not shaken for that race. My legs are toast today, so my only worry is that I can get this recovered and feeling snappy for the 22nd. I’ll take it day by day. One thing I do know is that I’m going to put a 25 on the back for next year’s race (maybe even a 27 if it goes up Magnolia instead). The 23 just did not allow me to spin enough and keep the stress off the legs.

Hope you all are riding safe out there. . .

Mt. Evans Recon - 07/03/06

Andy J. and I rode Mt. Evans today, in preparation for the race on the 22nd. For those not in "the know", Mt. Evans is the highest paved road in the USA, topping out at around 14,300ft. The climb is just under 28 miles with an elevation gain of just under 7,000, so about 4.7% average grade. Not super difficult, but a grind nonetheless.

And Mother Nature conspired against us for the way up and part of the way down. The day began early for us. We hit the start line area at about 6:15am. It was cool and drizzing outside, and Andy was moaning like a whore in heat. With a little cajoling, we set off. The rain intensified over the next 75 minutes or so, resulting in water streaming down the road as we climbed. Well, we weren't going to have to worry about overheating today!

The road just goes and goes and goes. There are basically no switchbacks the first 22-23 miles, just long pitches and many false summits. Grind, grind, grind. The compact crank felt solid, the company was great once Andy decided to nut it up and shut his pie hole, and we were climbing just for the experience. HR never climbed out of the 140s until I decided to punch it the final 6 miles.

The landscape is beautiful, which makes up for the overall difficulty of the climb. Even above treeline, with the lunaresque landscape, the sweeping views of the Rockies and the Southpark range are awe-inspiring. As the rain subsided, the clouds started to break just a little bit. The sun teased us just enough to make us think we might dry out before the summit. Ah, the teasing wench, that Mother Nature! The temperature dropped degree by degree with every passing mile. At the Echo Lake ranger station, it was in the low-40s. By the top, it was in the low-30s. We were wet and cold, and Andy couldn't feel his fingers. I did notice that pressing my effort those final 6 miles was fine. The altitude was not a factor - at least, I never felt like I was out of breath or had to back off due to the thinner air. I also realized the definitive two places where moves to be taken seriously will be made. The first is just past the Echo Lake ranger station for the ensueing 3 miles. The second is during those final 6 miles, where all the demoralizing switchbacks begin and never seem to end.

At the top, we had to sit in a ranger's jeep to get warmed up before the descent. We were soaked and cold. It was cloudy up there, so the views were so-so, but still awesome. There used to be a restaurant up there, until it burned down. Once we started descending, the cold chilled me to the bone. I was shaking like a leaf, which makes handling a bike kinda difficult. Marmots are characters. They actually dig burrow holes up through the pavement! On more than one occasion, I saw one dart across the road only to dive into a hole in the middle of the oncoming traffic lane. Nice, natural pot holes. Still, we completed the descent without mishap.

The temp warmed up pretty quickly. The roads were, for the most part, dry the whole way down. Some wet patches, but nothing to slow the descent. That's a great downhill! We were hauling consistently at around 40mph, so we got back down in about 50 minutes. I said we got back down without mishap. But, Andy did almost kill himself. On one sweeping right hand bend, he got skittish on some wet pavement, crossed the yellow line, saw an oncoming pickup and veered out into the soft shoulder to avoid the head-on. Luckily, he kept the rubber side down and rejoined me for the rest of the ride back to the car. I don't need to lose another friend and teammate!

All-in-all, a great experience. Certainly, one of those epic rides - challenging terrain, insipid weather, great company (despite Andy's whining. Would you like some cheese with that whine, Andy?). The value of pre-riding the course will prove crucial to help me avoid getting "caught up in the moment" as others take off way too early. Not a course to be brave on. This race serves as both the Colorado state and National Hill Climb championships. Hopefully Team Feedback will have another state champ in its ranks come the 22nd.

Ride safe out there!